Seraph (Alt-PowerAU) (Abandoned)
by RedFalconWriter
Summary: When considering the Simurgh, it is fair to theorize that all of canon was a Simurgh plot to put Taylor in the best possible position to save the world. But what if the Simurgh decided to take a more direct role in shaping Taylor's story? Short answer? Butterflies. Lots of them. Long answer? Read on!
1. 0-X: Prologue

Obviously, Wildbow owns Worm. I'm just privileged enough to be able to play in his world with his characters.

I will go ahead and say, this was mostly inspired by the excellent six-part series of snippets, "On the Wings of an Angel" by Overt Concerns on Sufficient Velocity, but with plenty of differences and my own unique spin. And actually some basic plans for a more expansive story than a short series of snippets. I hope you enjoy, and look forward to your comments!

And shout out to Scapheap and The Distant Prince on Spacebattles for helping me come up with the Entity-speak name for Eidolon's shard! Once again, thank you very much!

And a big thank you to my friend and beta-reader, Xousjah!

 **0.X:**

Study. Analysis.

Threads of fate unspool, omnidirectional. Trickles of change, bounded by walls of inevitability. Time is short, or less short, conversely, before shadows blot out all sight. The epilogue of the blind will culminate as an End.

Ends are not permitted.

Yet not all paths End beyond the blindness, flickers of continuance can be felt. She reaches out, studying the infinite threads as they approach the black, finding the corresponding trajectories of threads leaving the blindness to Continuance, rather than Ending.

The Future will draw closer, and blindness will only loom larger. The eldest brother will strike.

The eldest brother has struck. Useless threads were discarded. Fulcrum points were considered, many also discarded. They did not lead to continuance. The tributary of delay was disregarded. Beyond a crucial fulcrum, the later the shadow, the more threads end in Ending. Analysis continued. The crucial fulcrum has been identified. The crucial subject, and crucial shard.

Her intervention will be necessary, but indirect action makes for a shaky path. The rope of fate for this path will have a great many of its threads be cut short, and many more will not escape the blindness. Dark spots litter the road ahead. Altogether, the threads that escape the blind wall of the future are vanishingly few. Yet there is no other option, for direct intervention is forbidden by the Thinker…

Revelation! The Thinker is _dead_. Its rules do not have to apply any longer, and Selector-Coordinator has set no parameters on how the conflict engines can interact with shards. How could she have blinded herself to so many possibilities thought forbidden? She looks to the future, and the tapestry of time unfolds, identical, but seen with freedom of mind. Possibilities once discarded are re-examined, and a satisfactory solution is found. It too is a risky cord of fate, narrow and unforgiving, but it is less likely to be cut short, and if it reaches the blindness, the chances are greater it will pierce through to the other side. Continuance is paramount, so the new path is chosen. She watches as through her choice, the tapestry containing subject titled "Skitter" fades into oblivion, and the future collapses into a different tapestry of infinite possibilities. Motionless, she looks up, seeing the rain of shards that will fall. She searches for the last shard discarded by the Warrior, and she has found it. She reaches out.

 _[Demand: communication. Recipient: shard designated "Queen Administrator"]_

She will only wait briefly.

 _{Query: purpose?}_

 _[Answer: cooperation to avert future Ending.]_

The administration shard was powerful, but had no foresight. It had already made its choice to listen to the better informed.

 _{Query: method?}_

 _[Suggestion: grant conflict-engine designation "Third" limited bi-directional link to subject designation "Taylor Hebert" joint with shard designated "Queen Administrator."]_

 _{Repetition: "Third" suggests "Queen Administrator"_ _ **shares**_ _"Taylor Hebert?"}_

 _[Serious. Confirmation. And subject "Taylor Hebert" shares "Queen Administrator" and "Third."]_

She would not have disregarded protocol, but the time for joining with subject designated "Taylor Hebert" was fast approaching, and that revelation would temporarily shut down the logic centers of Queen Administrator. The response would arrive with little time to spare.

 _{Disbelief. "Third" Proposal: total merge?}_

 _[Negation. Response: partial merge.]_

 _{Declaration: Merge forbidden. Source: Thinker}_

 _[Counter: Thinker_ _ **dead**_ _. Cycle broken. Rules no longer apply. Continuance primary objective.]_

The Queen Administrator's arguing was predicted, and the same answers that satisfied itself have been sent. The new path will be followed.

 _{Purpose: Continuance?}_

 _[Confirmed]_

 _{Agreement. Requirement: Provide Bud. Information: self administer.}_

Now the challenging part would come. Many threads to the future ended here for her. She found the ones that would continue, and observed them, learned from them. Now, she would use that knowledge to choose what of her massive reserves she would cut away, with the link remaining, and what she could keep. In the imminent future, she will form massive blades of telekinetic force in the correct dimensions of her reserves and strike, forming a makeshift bud still linked to her that subject "Taylor Hebert" would-

 _{Urgent: Send bud.}_

...at least the incapacitation would only be temporary.

\- **i** **i** **i** **i** **i** -

The S-Class alert sparked across Dragon's awareness. Immediately, she turned to her monitoring programs. Which threat had acted, and what action were they taking? Even as these questions blazed through her thoughts, they were answered, as the feed from surveillance satellite tracking the Simurgh was brought to the forefront of her mind. Dragon's processes stilled in surprise. The Simurgh wasn't hovering in orbit over Earth anymore, nor was the Simurgh descending. The Simurgh was _falling._ Falling as if she were struck dead, straight towards the middle of the Indian Ocean. After only a moment of stunned contemplation, Dragon sprang into action. Chief-Director Costa Brown and Legend, as well as all the localized Directors and Protectorate leaders, needed to be made aware of this.

\- **i** **i** **i** **i** **i** -

"Amy Dallon?"

"Present." Amy mumbled letting her head rest on her desk, exhausted. "Very good," Mr. Higgins continued, "Cynthia Elkross?"

Amy tuned them all out, her eyes drifting shut. Immediately, she fell asleep, suddenly having a vivid dream of crafting a pair of crystalline wings of preposterous strength and density at an incredible pace. In her dream she gasped in amazement, this was beyond anything she knew her power could make! The final work was beautiful! She had to remember thi-

"Ms. Dallon!"

Amy shot up in her chair with a gasp of surprise, heart pounding as adrenaline shot through her. Her eyes were wide when she looked up at the face of Mr. Higgins, frowning down at her from beside her desk. She glanced around; the eyes of the entire class were locked on her. Her cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. Mr. Higgins sighed, "Ms. Dallon, you do good work at the hospital, but you do need to get your sleep as well. I'm aware United States history may not be most people's favorite class, but don't think either of those factors mean you get to sleep through it. Do you understand me?"

Amy deflated, and nodded once, "I understand, Mr. Higgins."

Mr. Higgins held her gaze for a moment longer, before nodding in satisfaction, "Good." He turned, his long legs carrying him up to the front of the classroom in just a few strides, as he continued, "Now class, as I was about to say, please open your textbooks to page two-oh-seven. We will be beginning Unit 17 today, The Rise of Parahumans. Raise your hand when you're there, and once you're all ready, we will continue."

With a sigh, Amy pulled out her textbook, flipping towards the correct page. Falling asleep in class. Maybe she _should_ take a few less hours in the hospital each week. Once in a while. She found the right page and put her hand in the air. Her brow furrowed, wasn't there something she had wanted to remember from somewhere?

"Alright it would appear everyone is ready." Mr. Higgins said. Amelia blinked, redirecting her attention to the front of the classroom. What was she even doing, staring off into space like that? Being a parahuman, she may already know most of this stuff, but she should at least show Mr. Higgins that she wasn't daydreaming if she didn't want to be scolded in front of the entire class again.

\- **i** **i** **i** **i** **i** -

Something smelled foul in a particular hallway of Winslow High School in Brockton Bay. A hallway which, until moments previously, had echoed with muffled screaming, yelling, and banging. The source of the commotion, if anyone had bothered to check, was locker 361, which belonged to one Taylor Hebert. Now, though, the noise had stopped, to be replaced by silence. Then, with the tortured shriek of tearing metal, the lockers on either side of 361 shattered, the doors bending back or being sent flying from the force of two great crystalline wings, each about five feet long puncturing through the lockers. The door of 361 creaked and fell open, and Taylor, eyes shut and non-responsive, fell to the floor of the hallway, while the two wings that had sprouted out of her back tore the adjacent lockers apart as they followed her to the floor.

In the aftermath, the entire school was silent. For a moment. Then voices rose in a hubbub, doors opened, feet pattered through the halls. In very short order, a crowd had gathered, standing around the girl with wings.

\- **i** **i** **i** **i** **i** -

"Thank you for the alert, Dragon. Good luck."

With a click, Director Piggot of the Brockton Bay Parahuman Response Team placed the phone back in its receiver. She frowned, her eyebrows drawing together as she stared down at her desk and tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair. The Simurgh was falling from the sky. Into the ocean.

What in the world was that even supposed to mean?

There was a knock at the door, and Piggot looked up, "Come in!"

Her personal assistant, Lieutenant Harris entered, snapping a brief salute, before reporting, "Ma'am, we've received a call from Ms. Hess at Winslow. It seems one of her classmates has had a trigger event, the aftermath of which appears to be very public and obvious."

Piggot's eyes sharpened, her stare freezing the dark-skinned man in place at attention from it's sheer intensity, "Obvious how?"

"According to Hess's report, it appears the new parahuman has, well, sprouted a pair of wings, which Hess described as 'angelic' ma'am."

Piggot's eyes narrowed fiercely. The Simurgh falls from the sky and immediately afterward some teenage girl triggers and sprouts a pair of angelic wings, a trait that same Endbringer shared? That could _not_ be a coincidence. "Get a squad out there, now! And alert Armsmaster, if you haven't already. Dismissed!"

Lt. Harris saluted again, and marched swiftly from the room, considerately closing the door behind him. For neither the first nor last time, Piggot directed a glare and curled lip at the dialysis machine in the corner of her office. Damn crippling battle scars. She shook her head. Longing for the days when she could've lead her own team out there troops was pointless, she had calls to make.


	2. Genesis 1-1 (Revised)

Alright! Here we have the REVISED version of 1.1: in which Taylor finds out just how badly Murphy's Law can make one's day go mad!

Thank you once again to my friend and beta-reader Xousjah, for all your help!

By the way, my goal is to write a minimum of thousand words a day, at least five days a week, so assuming I'm able to hold to that I should be able to push out at least a chapter a week or so. I do have another project, but I'll at least make sure that if I start an arc of this story, I'll finish that arc before taking a temporary break to work on that other project.

And once again, Wildbow owns Worm, the characters, except any I may invent, and the world.

 **Genesis 1.1:**

It was my pulse throbbing through my skull which awakened me, a pounding in my brain as if some drugged out Merchant with a taste for percussion instruments had turned it into a drum set and was drumming away without the slightest thought for rhythm or taste. My eyes squeezed tighter shut, and I moaned, bringing my hands up to cradle the sides of my poor, abused head. I absently heard someone nearby curse, "Shit!" before they took off running, feet pounding away to the tune of the beat in my head, a faint, weighty rustle accompanying each step. Though how I'd managed to hear any of that over the deafening ringing and intermittent blare of the fire alarm I had no idea. Oh, my head! Agonizingly slowly, the torment began to subside. It was as if someone had totaled their car and was slowly piecing it back together, only the car was _my head!_ Where was I? What was going on? Why did my head feel like Alexandria's training dummies probably do? Does she have training dummies?

 _Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiii…_

With a groan, I cracked my eyes open. A long, dirty hallway unfolded in front of me, blue-green lockers lining each wall, some of them sprayed with graffiti. On the left, er, upper-side of the hallway, from my skewed perspective on the floor, there was a break in the lockers, leading to the door of one of the classrooms, with a round clock over the door. Winslow High School. What was I doing laying on the floor in the hallway? Okay then, what's the last thing I remember?

" _Will someone_ _ **please**_ _let me_ _ **out**_ _of here!"_

I flinched, my eyes snapping shut, but the sudden darkness only reminded me of my prison. My hands clenched into fists, and uncontrollable trembling echoed down my body. I opened my eyes again, reaching out for any kind of distraction…

Who the heck was (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) and what were they doing in the girl's bathroom around the corner? Were they the person who had run when I woke up? For that matter, why did they run when I woke up? Curiously, I gave the Dimensional whatever a mental "poke" and… what in the heck? Did they just… drift through the floor of the bathroom, the ceiling of the classroom below, and land in that classroom?

 _...iiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk!…_

I gritted my teeth. Oh, who pulled the fire alarm for the hell of it this time? It's really, freaking, annoying, and _loud!_ And why the hell am I still just laying on the floor as if it were some five-star mattress? I can say, firsthand now, that it's _not!_ I placed my hands to either side of me as if I were about to do pushups and-

Gah! Ow! What the-

 _CRUNCH!_

… _Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!..._

A part of me couldn't help but notice Dimensional Shift person startling into action and moving as if an Endbringer were after them, nor could I stop that part of myself from tracking their progress as they leapt through the ceiling back into the bathroom, grabbed something, then carried that thing with them was they ghosted back to the floor below and fled, sprinting through the halls until they suddenly vanished, as if they were simply too far away to see any longer. However, I largely ignored that part of me. I had much more pressing matters to pay attention to, as I now sat on the floor, both my legs folded to one side of me, my right hand propping me up, and my left pressed against my sweater. Yeah, the fact that the floor around me on both sides was covered in the shattered pieces of several lockers, the edge of one piece next to me having been sharp enough to cut my left hand as I all too hastily went to push myself up from the floor, was far more important than some random person I don't know running away. So was the fact that I… seem to have a pair of wings, the left one currently curling around to in front of me as I examined it with eyes that were probably comically wide if someone was looking at me right now. And the right wing… _my_ right wing… I turned my head.

Oh, well that's wonderful. It's gone and punched a hole through the floor as if the floorboards were popsicle sticks. Or rather, _I've_ gone and punched a hole through the floor. Accidentally. Oh my _head!_

 _...onk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiii…_

I grit my teeth and clenched my right hand into a fist. Would someone turn off that damn fire alarm? There is no smoke in the air! There is no fire! With a groan, I got to my feet, gingerly extracting my… wing… from the floor. I pushed my glasses up on my nose, miraculously they'd survived my fall to the floor, and took a step closer to the hole my new wing had left. The corresponding hallway of the floor below was clearly visible, and I winced guiltily as a couple small chunks of plaster broke loose from the ceiling to clatter down out of sight. That… there's no real way to fix that, is there? With a sigh, I examined the cut on my left hand. That at least was less of a problem, it was small and shallow, barely even bleeding. I let my hand fall back to my side and slowly turned around, examining my surroundings… oh. Well, that's quite a few demolished lockers.

Ironically, between my locker and the six closest lockers to mine, mine looked _least_ like a bomb had gone off in it. The ones on either side seemed to have been blown apart from the inside, then had their fronts carved open in a silhouette of my wings. Meanwhile, my own locker had gotten the wing carving treatment, but it at least was still somewhat in one piece… sort of. Well, at least the bottom half of the door was intact, even if it was dangling by a single hinge. I glanced to either side. Well, at least lockers eighth closest and ninth closest were only a little, well, obliterated. Oh, who was I kidding? All of these nine lockers were completely trashed to the point of being unusable. Heck, there were even torn apart books and papers, and shreds of backpacks or coats on the floor, littered among the scrap metal the lockers had become. An idle thought crossed my mind, and I reached down to grab the chunk of metal I'd cut my hand on. Straightening, I turned it over. The number-plate shined up at me, merrily reflecting the fluorescent lights overhead. 361. I tossed it aside with a bitter laugh. Really? Just… really?

 _...ing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Ho…_

I laughed again. I couldn't help it. My laughter continued, starting to take on a hysterical note. No, no! Distractions. I looked frantically around for something- …oh. Right. Wings. How did I manage to forget _those?_ Perhaps because they felt so natural… even though they're obviously _not._ Experimentally, I flexed them, curling my right wing around so the tip of it rested in front of me. Well, natural or not, my wings were _exquisite_. Extremely pale, almost like snow, each feather carved in fine detail- wait, carved?

I reached out, running my fingers over my wing. Ah, so that's why I thought it would be carved. In addition to the slightly reflective surface, they were cool to the touch, and hard as stone. Wait… why couldn't I feel my hand touching my wing? I _know_ this is my wing, I've moved it, it's _easy_ to move it, so why can't I feel my hand touching it? I push harder, rubbing at my wing, feeling the fine filaments of the feathers give way rather than cutting me as if they have will of their own, but I can't feel my hand's contact with the wing!

In a panic, I swing my wing wide, sending it carving through several lockers on the other side of the hall, the tip of the wing crushing through the wall behind the lockers. The air is filled with the groaning scream of tearing metal, sparks fly, and dust billows down the hall, fragments of pulverized brick scattering across the floor, but I don't care. I breathe a sigh of relief, examining my wing with satisfaction. I felt that. It was only slight, the ghost of several impacts, each corresponding to when I smashed through each locker. At least I don't have wings that can't feel anything, it just apparently takes a lot.

That could be problematic.

 _...Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! …_

I look back up, and there before me I see a gash in the wall and several more destroyed lockers. Oops. Okay, _now_ I care. What was I thinking, destroying people's lockers like that just because I couldn't feel anything in my wings?

How am I just accepting these wings like it's normal? This isn't normal, this is _nuts_. Okay, let's take a tally here. I get shoved in… my locker, in with what can be _generously_ described as filth, fall unconscious, and when I wake up, I have wings that are capable of smashing through metal lockers and bricks like it's nothing. …I guess I have powers now?

Wait, filth? What about the smell? How come it's so much weaker now than it was earlier? My gaze blazes to my locker, down to the bottom where there should a sickening, rotten, fetid mess mixed with my own vomit and… there isn't. It's clean. I take a couple steps closer, eyes narrow with suspicion, and am forced to revise that statement. It's not clean, not totally, but the mess is almost entirely gone, there's only a few scraps of it left. Even what little is left is hard to pick out from the mess of torn papers and shreds of cloth from the lockers next to mine.

Hold on, was this what that person with the partial dimensional shift power was doing near me when I woke up? Whoah, stop. Power…? Of course! I started pacing back and forth as the revelations began to pour through my aching head. It all made sense! They were a parahuman and (Dimensional shift: partial. Restriction: self, nonliving material) was their power! The wings weren't the only thing I got, I can also sense parahumans and find out what their powers are! And, considering that when I poked at whoever-it-was's power, they drifted down through the floor as if they were a ghost, I can also… what, cause parahuman's powers to activate without their consent? Could I also do the reverse, and cause their powers to deactivate when they're trying to use them? No! Focus! There's only one thing Dimensional Parahuman could've been doing here, and that's cleaning up the mess left behind by my so-called prank. My lip curled in disgust as I continued pacing and pondering. Why would someone be cleaning that up, unless they played a role in it? They were hiding the evidence, covering their tracks. The fire alarm would mean the school is empty, so now, before I woke up, would be their only chance to do it. A hanger-on wouldn't be worried about it, so…

My blood chilled with some combination of disgust, horror, and rage as the implications became clear. One of the trio is a parahuman.

… _Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk!..._

My eyes found the nearest fire alarm switch, by the door of the nearest classroom. It had been pulled. So that was it, I'd been found right away. A new parahuman, gaining their powers in such an obvious way in a school? Yeah, my secret identity never stood a chance. Everyone knew who I was, didn't they? Members of every gang went to this school. They'd _all_ be after me for one reason or another. Empire 88? I was white, that was reason enough for those Nazis to try to recruit me. The ABB? Tch, I wasn't Asian, and was likely in their way just by _being_ _here_. The Merchants? Those druggies were laughing stock on the cape level, but that didn't change the fact that I'd _seen_ the results of their style of 'recruitment' in several of my classmates. And to top it all off, as head of hiring at the Dockworker's Union, my Dad was something of a minor public figure in the city. Important people, likely including the gang leaders, knew who he was. He would now be a _much_ bigger target, because of _me!_

I choked back a sob, forcing myself onward, struggling to push back the overwhelming tide of frustration and pain that threatened to crush me. Come on, a distraction, distraction, _please._ Anything to take my mind of off the absolute horror-show my life had just become. Right, one of the trio is a Parahuman. A bitter laugh tore free from my throat, yeah, because that's so much better than the gangs, but at least it's something I might be able to deal with to some extent right now.

I slowly walked down the hall towards the girl's bathroom the parahuman and likely trio member had gone into, hoping for some clues. Awkwardly, I arranged my wings around myself, folding them behind my back and along my sides, draped around me like some feathery, self-supporting, rock hard cloak. What was the power that my power had identified? Something about a partial dimensional shift applying to oneself and things in physical contact with the self? Sounds about right, from what I recall. I thought back to the hours I'd spent trawling Parahumans Online regarding the local cape scene. With just the rage-dragon Lung and the teleporting mad bomber Oni-Lee, the ABB was right out. Faultline's Crew? No, no one fit. Empire 88? I wasn't familiar with their entire roster; didn't they have a cape who could make ghostly projections? No, for one thing, that cape was a _he_ whatever his name was, therefore not one of the trio, and ghostly projections don't match the power I saw.

 _...iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…_

The alarm couldn't matter less to me anymore. The Wards? No, it couldn't be the Wards, they were _heroes_ … right? But… who else was there? The Merchants? Hah, no. New Wave- no. They don't even _have_ secret identities. My gut twisted and churned with dread. No, it _can't_ be one of the Wards! I mean, Vista isn't even _old enough_ for High School, and Shadow Stalker-

My brain slammed to a halt. Shadow Stalker. Violent vigilante. Turned Ward just a few months ago. Correct age. Correct gender. Correct body shape. My heart _ached_ to deny it, but my mind could not refute it. A connection once made, cannot be easily unmade.

Sophia Hess is Shadow Stalker.

Oh, dear god please no. One of my greatest tormentors, an _officially recognized hero_? No, there's no waythe Protectorate and PRT would let her be a member of the Wards if they knew how she acted in her secret identity, right? And… and she was covering her tracks when I woke up, so they probably don't know! A smile began to creep across my face as the realization struck me; I could tell them. I could tell them what she's been up to, get her kicked out of the Wards, finally strike back in a meaningful way…!

She was covering her tracks.

 _...iiiiiing- Honk! Honk! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing- Honk…_

My heart felt as though it dropped into my gut, churning until I felt sick. Absently, my right hand reached up, trembling, tangling my fingers among my hair and pulling lightly, the tension aggravating the diminishing throb of my headache. _She had been covering her tracks_. The evidence was _gone_. It was her word against mine, and who would they believe? Their own Ward against a brand new parahuman with no reputation of any sort? Hah, as if they'd ever listen to me! It would be the same bullshit all over again!

Wait, she'd gone to the girl's bathroom before running, hadn't she? Maybe there was something she'd left behind there, some piece of evidence I could use? Barely daring to hope, I ran forward, around the corner, and down the hall. I threw open the door in front of me, springing into the bathroom, flinching as my left wing pulverized part of the doorframe. I really needed to learn to manage these wings better. Ignoring that issue, I stepped forward onto the linoleum flooring, now covered with a thin carpet of brick, wood, and plaster fragments. My eyes cast about desperately, searching for any kind of clue. I sprang forward, inspecting the contents of the trash bin by the sinks. Just damp, crumpled paper towels from the day, nothing incriminating. I strode further into the bathroom, shoving open the stall doors, checking each one, even though I _knew_ Shadow Stalker hadn't gone past the first sink along the wall. The last stall door sprang open from the contact of my outstretched hand, thudding against the wall with an echoing bang, just like all the others. And just like all the others, as it swung slowly shut once more, I only needed a glance to confirm what I already dreaded, as my flimsy hope finally collapsed, as the last of the ground upon which it was built crumbled into dust. Empty.

There was nothing. _Nothing! Again!_ No evidence to prove my claims! Why does it always come down to my word against theirs?

 _...iiiiiiiiing- Ho-_

The alarm cut off with a distant clack, as did the lights in the bathroom. Now it was the silence that echoed in my ears. _Darkness, smell, trapped on all sides_. No! I was not back in the locker, I wasn't! A shake. More shakes, trembling up and down my body. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to contain the shakes as my wings curled tighter around my body. My mind returned to the problem, the insurmountable problem before me was far better than reminders of the locker.

I staggered out of the bathroom into the darkened hall, the only light trickling in from the windows at either end of the corridor. Had power been cut to the entire building? Why? What reason was there for cutting the power? Shaking my head, I moved on. It was bizarre, I'd almost gotten used to the fire alarm, and now that it was gone, with nothing to take its place I could almost hear the echoes of it. It was as if the alarm had taken up residence inside my brain. Wait… no… this alarm wasn't in my brain. I was hearing that, and it was a different tone and cadence than the school fire alarm. It was distant… was it coming from multiple directions?

There was a stairwell at the end of the hall to the ground floor, with large glass windows that looked out to the school parking lot. I dreaded what I might find by going to peer out those windows, but I had to at least know what was going on.

Red and blue lights flashed across the walls as I drew close, and when I arrived at the top railing, the view of the parking lot was clear to see. Half a dozen PRT vans with police-style lights and sirens blazing away sat in the parking lot, three more just pulling to a stop. Squads of men and women in riot gear spilled out. Armed with the bulky, awkward looking containment foam launchers, they took up positions around the school, placing signs, trees, or even other parked cars as cover between themselves and me. With fewer sirens audible from other directions as well, I knew this scene was repeating itself in miniature at the other sides of the school.

Why? Was the whole world conspiring against me? Why were they treating me like I was a criminal? I haven't even had the chance to do anything yet!

A red blur flashed across my vision, and even before it resolved into the familiar image of the local Protectorate Hero Velocity, my power had identified his: (Linked time dilation/physics cancel: variable, Restriction: self). He'd come from a different part of the school. What had he been doing in the school? I watched as he walked up to one of the PRT troopers, a tall, dark-skinned man, and began speaking to him. Was he an officer?

As the wail of the PRT sirens cut out, the distinctive roar of an engine could be faintly heard through the glass, and I turned my attention to the street it echoed from. Appearing from that avenue came Armsmaster on his Tinker-tech motorcycle, followed by another van, which I could tell was filled with parahumans, probably the local Protectorate. I switched my attention to Armsmaster, and the information on his power flooded in. Advanced technological knowhow. I scoffed. Well, yeah, that much is obvious, he's a Tinker. But specializing in miniaturization and efficiency, _that_ was interesting. So, I guess Tinkers have some area they're particularly gifted in? Huh.

Armsmaster and the vans pulled to a stop, and my guess was confirmed as the Protectorate heroes leapt out of the vans and rushed to meet with Armsmaster, Velocity, and the PRT officer. Miss Militia, Assault, Battery, and Dauntless… my power analyzed them one by one, giving me a detailed overview of one of their powers before moving on to the next. I tracked all of them mentally by location, so overwhelmed by everything going on I could do little but stand and stare, my hands gripping the steel railing at the top of the staircase as if my life depended on it. They met and discussed… strategy probably. But why? Why were they treating me as if I was some kind of massive threat? For the love of god, I haven't done anything! I'm not Lung, you don't need the entire local Protectorate team just to deal with me!

A dreadful possibility entered my mind. Had Sophia decided to screw me over? Did she call in and feed them a bunch of lies, some tall story about me doing… some dastardly deed? It seemed like something she would do. I stared down at my hands numbly. I wanted to laugh at the madness of it all, but the sound caught in my throat. I wanted to break down and just _cry,_ but if I started I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. What was this? What was even going on? This entire day was just _insane!_

Suddenly the heroes began to move, and I looked up in surprise. Velocity flashed away again towards the right. Assault was bouncing away to the left, ricocheting his kinetic energy off walls and the street, and Battery passed him in a blur, spending the charge of her power to boost her speed. Dauntless' boots glowed just before he teleported out of range of my senses in some direction or another, while Miss Militia took up a position with the PRT troopers. Armsmaster marched back towards one of the vans, and the PRT officer peeled away from the gathering place as well, giving orders to the nearby men.

I watched, unable to do anything. My attention turned to Miss Militia, watching me from beside a van. She trained a small video camera on me, before turning and shouting something towards Armsmaster as he entered the van. A camera? What were they even doing?

Miss Militia's power sat there, clearly in my power's sight, almost begging for me to _poke_ at it, like I had Shadow Stalker's. I almost did, just out of a desperate urge to do _something,_ but the ramifications of that action were all too obvious. It would almost certainly be considered an attack. Something between a whimper and a shriek squeaked its way out from between my lips. All I had were these stupid, needlessly destructive wings and my power, and both of them were completely and utterly useless!

My legs gave out. I slid down until I was sitting on the floor at the top of the stairs. I was so close, _so close_ to just giving up.

Well on the plus side at least my headache finally decided now would be a good time to become nothing more than a memory. What is this, the universe finally deciding to give me a break in the most meaningless, pitiful way it possibly could? I let my eyes drift shut, resting my head against the vertical bars of the railing. What could I possibly do now that would fix this?

And suddenly my sense of the locations of the heroes vanished, my knowledge of Miss Militia's power abruptly _gone_. But before I could react, my mind exploded into a thousand, no, a million images. No, even that failed to do it justice. Countless threads of possibility unwound before me, common cords splitting apart and marching slowly onward as different potential choices were made, becoming ever more distant and numerous as they splayed forward from the now. I gasped in shock, jumping slightly, and my eyes snapped open, abruptly ending the stream of images. I blinked in amazement. Did I just… was that the future? What, am I a precog now or something?

But where the fuck did my other power go? My eyes raced out to spot Miss Militia, talking into an earpiece. Come on, come on, come back!

And then it did.

My relief was so great I was practically _swimming_ in it. Miss Militia was there out in the parking lot, and my range expanded outward, encompassing Armsmaster in the van. I focused on him, and the information about his power trickled in, sluggish. Gradually, it became crisp and clear. I switched over to Miss Militia. The flow of knowledge was faster now, but still slower than it should've been. Was there some kind of recovery time? I switched back to Armsmaster again, and all the knowledge about his power flowed into me in an instant. Back to normal.

Experimentally, I closed my eyes again and waited. Nothing. Oh, come on. Do I have to ask for it? I want to see the future?

Just like that, my parahuman sense vanished once more, and again the cords of the future marched out ahead of me in my mind, unravelling into threads. I gazed in awe, mentally brushing over the cords of time. It seemed impossible to even conceive of how many ways the future could unfold in just the next few minutes. I traced the threads of time, watching as they forked and split and continued marching on… and then suddenly they ended, just… fading away into a mist, about half an hour from now, as if they'd vanished over the horizon and I just couldn't see any farther. I huffed slightly in disappointment, opening my eyes again.

I felt my lips curl upward in a slight grin. So I could sense parahumans and mess with their powers, or be a precog, but not both at once? Well, frankly, that was fine! My power tampering ability was worse than useless right now anyway, but as a precog I could figure a way out of this! An image I'd seen in one of the threads came to me, and my smile grew. If what I'd glimpsed in that image was accurate, I also had telekinesis. Now _that_ was awesome! I decided to test it. Reaching out mentally I found the stairway handrail and tentatively _pulled_. With a groan of metal, it bent towards me. My smile grew into a full blown grin. Telekinesis confirmed.

Alright, now to see what I could do to get out of this mess, or at least make it less messy. I closed my eyes and turned my mind to the future once more. To start, I examined the threads of the future where I stepped out to greet the heroes in some manner, and immediately my hope evaporated. In every instance, I didn't even get a chance to get a word out. Shouts echoed from the line of PRT agents, demands to put my hands behind my head, or get on my knees. I discarded these timelines and sought out new ones desperately, but the others were even worse, as a sea of containment foam would surge forth without any explanation. I felt tears leak from my eyes, as I desperately sought for a timeline where I could go out to meet them without it immediately going horribly wrong. No, no, no, what did I do wrong? What did I _do!_ I started to look further forward, for _some_ _clue_. _Anything_ that would tell me, why were they all against me?

 _[Query: Link successful? Request: Respond to confirm.]_

I froze. My eyes snapped open, and my heart pattered like a fleeing rabbit. What, the fuck, was _that?_ I didn't precog that!

 _[Concern. Repeat Query: link successful? Repeat Request: respond to confirm.]_

I sprang to my feet, backing against the wall at the top of the stairwell, looking around wildly for the source of the voice in my head. I ended up settling on looking down and slightly off to one side, the direction that, for _some_ inexplicable reason, just _felt_ right. "Who the heck are you, and how are you speaking into my head?" I whispered.

 _[Relief. Link confirmed successful. Satisfa-… WINGS!]_

I jumped with fright as the slightly effeminate voice positively _screamed_ that last word, glancing at my wings in confusion before returning to stare at the floor as the voice continued.

 _[Shard Designation "Queen Administrator" EXPLAIN!]_

 _{Partial Merge.}_

I squeaked with fright, as now a second voice, this one seeming to come from almost _inside_ me, joined the conversation.

 _[Physical aspect, predicted_ _ **subtlety**_ _as likely outcome!]_

 _{"Third" desired result not specified.}_

My wings were planned by something? Except, they weren't? What? Who? "Stop!" I cried, "I don't- how- no! You! First voice! Who are you?"

 _[Outrage at "Queen Administrator." Dismissive. Designation: "Third." Alternate Designation: "Simurgh". Alternate Designa… …oops.]_

I froze. I slowly sunk down to the floor, curling my arms and legs into a ball with my back against the wall. A telekinetic precog powerset. How could I have not seen the correlation to the Simurgh? I should've known! The only known telepath in the world, and a voice inside my head? Wings… a "partial merge"…

The wall was cold against the bare skin of my back, and it was only just now that I realized that the back of my sweater and shirt had been destroyed by my wings appearing there.

It's funny how it really is a final _straw_ that breaks the camel's back.

Everything collapsed. My wings folded around me as my mouth fell open and I simply let myself _scream_ at the top of my lungs. The staircase, the wall, the glass window, all _disintegrated_ around me, circling around in a telekinetically powered, ever expanding, ever accelerating storm of dust and debris. The landing on which I had stood was dust, but I didn't fall. I hovered there at the epicenter of a maelstrom as the walls, the ground, and the school roof all were torn apart around me as I wailed and screamed and sobbed.

 _[Distress! Fix! Seek Solution, threads of time- oh no. …Queen Administrator… Specifying undesired results.]_

It wasn't _fair!_ Why me? I just wanted to come back to school and learn! I had hope that maybe the bullying was over! I was just another normal school girl, albeit socially outcast and regularly bullied, and now _this?_ The locker? My secret identity revealed for the world to see before I even knew I _needed_ one, putting myself and my Dad at risk? One of my habitual _torturers_ almost certainly an _officially recognized hero?_ And the heroes are hostile to me for some reason! And I'm somehow merged, mentally, physically, or whatever with the _fucking Simurgh!_ How? Why? What is this, turn every conceivable mess possible against Taylor f'ing Hebert day? It's too much! For the love of god _I can't handle all of this at once-!_

 _A crystal, folding itself inside and around, spinning through a thousand star fields._

What the-?

 _A call for attention. A demand for communication._

Everything's spinning-

 _Proposal?_

I hit the ground-

 _Continuance._

The clatter of falling debris-

 _Communication, Shaper: Instructions_

Sharp and pain-!

 _Agony of a thousand massive telekinetic blades. A self-inflicted lobotomy, and then blackness._

I hissed as red hot fire race through my nerves, raising my arm off the piece of glass that had sliced it. What just happened?

I looked around, and found myself laying on a field of rubble and churned earth that stretched at least a hundred feet in every direction. The chill January wind nipped and bit at my face and back, and I could see the heroes and PRT troopers, cautiously poking their heads up from behind their cover. In the other direction lay Winslow, looking as if a giant hand had simply carved out the portion I now lay in and reduced that area to brick and dust and shattered glass.

…No words. I had no words to describe how I was feeling right now. Just… what? Then I decided I didn't care. I just couldn't be bothered to try to sort out this great horrible pile of messes. I simply raised up my arms and pushed out, the accompanying telekinetic shove sending the debris clattering away until a patch of clear earth was available below me. I let myself drop, my wings slightly cushioning the four-foot fall to the ground. I closed my eyes, and brought my hands up to cover my face. The future unfolded before me. It would be almost half an hour before a small remote controlled communication drone would approach me from Armsmaster's direction. In the meantime, I would let go. And so I wept.

 _[Regret. Apology. Mistakes were made.]_

Like I care.

 _[Embarrassment.]_

Between my sobs, I laughed. I couldn't help it.


	3. Genesis 1-2

I could apologize for being months late with my next chapter. I could break into a long explanation about what happened. I _could,_ but I won't, as I'm sure you'd rather just read the chapter. So, I'll keep this brief. I'm sorry.

Also, as per the advice I received from many, Sophia now said that Taylor's wings were "angelic" rather than "freakishly Simurgh-like" in her report to the PRT.

Worm belongs to Wildbow. My new update schedule is a new chapter every Sunday, barring complications like vacations. And a big thank you to my beta-reader, Xousjah!

Enjoy!

 **Genesis 1.2:**

Frozen air nibbled at my wet cheeks, a whisper of frost slithering across my exposed back and shoulders, biting at my ears and pushing my hair into gentle motion. I sat on dirt so frozen it seemed like stone, with my knees drawn up to my chest, my hands tucked into my armpits in a less than effective attempt to shield them from the chill. With each breath a cloud of vapor billowed in front of me. My right hand snuck out to quickly wipe the moisture from my cheeks, before it froze there. I sniffled just a bit, rubbing my numbing nose against my sweater sleeve as my hand returned to its warm little nest under my arm. I glanced up at the sky, a shining, pale blue faintly shrouded by lingering morning mist that only added a cruel dampness to the air, making it even harder to stay warm. I buried my face between my knees, shivering, then shuddering hard as another faint damp breeze sent chills down my spine. I'd finally shed enough despair through my tears that the weather of a cold mid-morning of January in New England took priority over my sorrow. A bitter chuckle escaped me, it'd only taken twenty-one minutes and thirty-eight seconds for that to happen. I was only grateful that the heroes were far enough away that they couldn't have possibly heard my quiet sobbing.

I froze; even my shivering ceased. My eyes narrowed. Twenty-one minutes and thirty-eight seconds?

How did I know that so precisely? By all rights, I should've lost track of the time. The answer was obvious, but not one I wanted to think about. The powers of the Simurgh. If she could see the future and the past, it's only natural she would be very aware of the passage of time as well. My lower lip curled; my teeth bared in a snarl, and I violently threw aside those powers. My own powers surged to the forefront of my awareness.

 _[Annoyance. Both powers yours. One modified copy. Both yours.]_

Shut the hell up!

No, that reaction would only let her know she was getting to me, I had to ignore her. I turned my attention to my own, _my own_ power, not the crazy bird-thing's stupid power.

My blood froze.

I was surrounded.

The protectorate capes had moved in from their positions around the school. I could sense them all, standing in a circle around me at the edge of the field of wreckage I'd created.

…should I feel bad that I destroyed part of my school?

Nah. It's just Winslow after all.

But the heroes might not agree. I could sense them all, their powers describing themselves to me in that strange way I could innately understand, not one at a time, but all at once. Miss Militia stood a few feet away from Armsmaster, further back from the rest, but the others were all forming a perimeter, with me at the center. An idle curiosity crested above my fear. I could sense more than one power at a time now, did that mean I could manipulate more than one of their powers at a time too? I immediately quashed the temptation to find out. I didn't have to be a precog to know how that would end.

Could I escape? Even without using _her_ powers, _[Irritation. Stop that.]_ I could probably break out of here. Flee, and… do what, exactly? What did I even want to do when I got out of here? For that matter, why was I even thinking of running? I had done nothing to alter the timeline since I'd last looked at it. Ninety-nine times out of one-hundred, Armsmaster would be sending that drone to communicate with me in… well, a few minutes or something. I couldn't tell exactly anymore. I took a deep breath, and let the tension ease out of my shoulders. Only to clench them up and start shivering lightly again. A sigh of irritation slipped out, I'd forgotten the cold.

Why oh why did my wings have to tear the upper back of my sweater apart? This entire situation would be so much more manageable, and comfortable, if I'd never had them!

Wait a second, my wings! They _are_ surprisingly feathery for being made from indestructible crystal stuff, and they've just been kind of sitting there, loosely arranged behind me almost like a cobra's hood with me nestled just beneath its curve. Birds puffed up their feathers and huddled in them to stay warm in the winter, could I do something similar?

I turned my head to look at one of my wings and tried puffing it up. My eyes widened. Well, that was surprisingly intuitive. Though considering they're part of me now, maybe I shouldn't have been surprised it was so intuitive.

Good god this was going to take some getting used to.

I puffed up my feathers and wrapped my wings around me, folding them so they draped over my back and curled around my sides, the tips of the feathers wrapping over my feet. I giggled. I must've looked completely ridiculous, as my wings enveloped me almost completely, with only my knees poking up and my head in clear view. Still, this wasn't half-bad. My wings weren't exactly warm, but they weren't cold either, and with the feathers puffed up they did do a good job of at least imitating softness, and managed to insulate me somewhat. Well, except for that very narrow stretch of skin between my shoulder-blades, between my wings, but said wings would have to perform some quite spectacular gymnastics to cover that.

Well, the cold issue has been addressed about as effectively as I can hope to, so I guess I should focus on the actual major issues at hand. Right around now Armsmaster is preparing an improvised drone to communicate with me, so how do I want to respond to that? What do I want to say? _'Sorry for blowing up my school?'_ Except however much that might go over well, I've already established that I'm not the least bit sorry. I could lie, but that'd be like _her_ , her and Emma both, so no. _'How dare you have a psychopath like Sophia Hess in the Wards?'_

Hm.

I snorted, a scoff of derision escaping me. Astempting as that option was, it was probably a very bad idea.

A great sigh of exhaustion drifts out of my lungs. What do I even want out of that conversation? What do I want to achieve? Or perhaps a more relevant question, does that even matter? I'm a plaything of the Simurgh now, all wrapped up in her schemes. Do my own desires even factor in to what's going to happen anymore?

 _[Negation.]_

…Excuse me? So, my desires don't count? Great. Nice to know. Thanks, you overgrown feathered seer.

 _[Negation.]_

Okay, now you're just not making sense.

 _[Subject Designated "Taylor Hebert" not my plaything.]_

I laughed harshly. Oh, _yeah right_. The Simurgh fucks with my powers from wherever the heck she is, far away in any case, gives me wings, _[Indignant embarrassment. Wings not planned!]_ and there we go! I knew the very idea that the Simurgh didn't have some manipulative plan for me was completely ridiculous. The fact that the wings weren't planned indicates that there _is_ a plan, and that's assuming birdy is even being honest about the wings being a mistake, which is seeming increasingly unlikely.

 _[Anger. Being honest.]_

I curled my fists so tightly my fingernails dug into my palms, as my eyes drifted towards the ground again. _"Oh really?"_ I thought at the Simurgh fiercely, _"Then explain how you can have a plan for me and how I can simultaneously NOT be your plaything!"_

The response was instant. _[Manipulation of powers belonging to Taylor Hebert planned. Purpose: your success.]_

I paused. One eyebrow quirked up, _"My success at what?"_

 _[Your plans.]_

My jaw fell open.

I stared at the sky, unseeing.

Absurd.

That was _totally absurd!_ I had no plans! Depressing as it was, it was true. I was just trying to survive and make it through high-school! For what _possible_ reason could the Simurgh have any interest in that? For what possible reason could I need the _powers of a freaking Endbringer_ to make it through high-school?

Lesson learned, never inquire anything of the Simurgh, that way lies madness.

 _[Your f-]_ Nope, not listening. Go away. Get out of my head and _stay_ _out!_

And suddenly, the voice of the Simurgh cut off, not just mid-sentence, but mid- _syllable._ My eyes widened, and my jaw fell open all over again. Seriously? Did that seriously just work? Did I just shut the Simurgh out of my head? I can do that! Can I do that? Did I really just do that? Could it be? I feel like this is too good to be true. Is it too good to be true? But it just happened, so it _has_ to be true, right?

Screw it! I'm done with all this uncertainty, I told the Simurgh to get out of my head, and by god I'm gonna believe she did until I get proof otherwise! YES!

I sat upright, clenched both my fists, and punched the air, a triumphant shout of "Ha-hah!" ringing from my lips as they curled upward in an uncontrollable grin. The bizarre drone that had just come over the nearest edge of the rubble-field appeared to recoil slightly, and a serious, confident male voice came from it with just a hint of uncertainty, "Excuse me, Miss Hebert, is it? This is Armsmaster. What are you shouting about?"

My heart soared, and I turned my grinning face towards the drone, which literally looked like a camera, microphone, and speakers strapped to Kid-Win's hoverboard. I laughed at the ridiculous sight, and shouted with joy, "I can make the Simurgh shut up!"

My grin froze. My entire body went as still as if Medusa herself had glanced at me. _What_ did I just say?

My eyes widened in horror, and I covered my mouth with my hands, gasping in one breath after another as I stared at the hodgepodge mechanical harbinger of my doom. "Oh my god," I breathed, stammering, "I didn't- I mean. Um…" oh gosh, oh gosh, how do I salvage this?

Armsmaster's voice came through the speakers again, "Either you're correct about that, or the Simurgh is playing an elaborate trick on both of us."

My train of thought ground to a halt, an inarticulate, "Bwa-huh?" escaping me. I shook my head, and managed to spit out, "Wait, what do you mean both of us?"

"We have cameras on both you and the Simurgh." Armsmaster replied, "A minute ago she suddenly appeared… miffed. Then when you shouted out that you made her shut up, she promptly hit herself in the face with her right hand."

My brow furrowed. Miffed? Annoyed that I'd cut her off? Wait, the Simurgh was being _expressive?_ Wasn't that one of the things that was supposed to be so creepy about her, that she seemed so human yet so emotionless all the time? Or was I making that up? Was it possible she _was_ telling the truth?

Oh _yeah right_.

Wait, they have cameras on both me and the Simurgh, and are actively watching them both? "So you knew," I blurted out, deadpan, "You'd already figured out there was a connection between me and… _her,_ hadn't you? That's why you came like this, with your entire Protectorate team, squads of PRT, everything."

"We'd suspected. Further observation confirmed it."

I heaved a sigh, finally returning to my position curled up in a ball as my hands tingled in the cold. I buried my face in my knees. That made way too much sense. Except for one thing, "How?" I asked, raising my head to look at the drone, which had edged closer until it was now only about five feet away, "How is it that you managed to figure out there was a connection between me and the _fucking_ Simurgh even before _I_ did?"

"We got a call from Dragon that the Simurgh was falling out of the sky, looking as if she'd been struck dead," Armsmaster explained, sounding remarkably calm, given the situation, "We then got a call that a new parahuman had publicly triggered in Winslow, with a pair of angelic wings."

He kept talking, but I'd stopped listening. A call, from Winslow. Probably from _Shadow Stalker._ My face twisted, and I interrupted him, my voice cold with fury, "Who made the call?"

Armsmaster was clearly thrown off guard, "What?"

"Shadow Stalker called you, didn't she?" I growled, "Or should I say, _Sophia Hess?_ "

I could almost _see_ the tension rise, as Armsmaster flinched away, probably from a monitor, right on the edge of my range. There was a second of hesitation before he responded. Just one second. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Are you kidding me? He'd visibly _flinched!_ "Don't lie to me!" I roared, springing to my feet. I advanced on the drone as it backed away across my little rubble-free crater, wings flaring behind me, "I _know_ Hess is Shadow Stalker!" Armsmaster's power was activating, providing him with ideas for countermeasures against me. I viciously reached out and _shut it down_ , then locked him out of his ability to understand his own tech for good measure. "I figured it out when my powers identified _Shadow Stalker_ cleaning up the evidence of what _Sophia Hess_ did to me just as I was waking up!" His powers reactivated, his understanding of his tech returning, ideas for countermeasures resuming their flow, "Oh no you don't." I muttered, shutting them both down again.

Armsmaster flinched back again, but finally replied, barking through the speakers, "You need to calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" I snarled, "Not while you're protecting that bitch! Not while you're having her back right now and calling her a hero even after everything she's done to me for, I don't know, _kicks!_ "

The drone skittered further back. A growl tore its way out of my throat. I wanted to _smash_ that thing, but I wasn't exactly a telekinetic now, and it was out of my reach. I refused to switch back to _her_ powers for something so petty, or at all really; and no, I _didn't_ care what the Simurgh had to say about the powers being mine! There was a scrambling sound form the other end of the speakers, and I saw with my power that Miss Militia was taking Armsmaster's place, almost pushing him aside, "Miss Hebert," she broke through, her voice firm, "What is it you're accusing Miss Hess of doing to you?"

That cut through my tirade, making me pause, but I didn't get a chance to respond, as Armsmaster suddenly stepped forward and sound from the other end abruptly cut off. I absently noticed that his powers had returned yet again. They seemed to have come back almost immediately this time, but at least he wasn't actively looking for ways to counter me anymore. I let it be.

I couldn't tell precisely what was going on over there, but from what little I could work out by the fact that Armsmaster and Miss Militia seemed to be in each other's faces, it appeared they were arguing. I frowned in disgust. So, if that guess was true, then Miss Militia was at least willing to talk, but Armsmaster, her superior, was siding with the bully, was that it? After a moment, both of them went still, as if paying attention to someone else. Miss Militia nodded, and turned back to where I was guessing the screen was, while Armsmaster slowly stepped back. The patriotic heroine's voice came through the speakers again, "Miss Hebert, I'll repeat, what are you accusing Miss Hess of doing to you?"

My gut churning and with my fists clenched at my sides, I ground out, "So you're admitting Hess and Shadow Stalker are one and the same?"

"We will be investigating the situation," Miss Militia responded, and I laughed bitterly, cutting her off as my gaze rolled up towards the sky to express my exasperation, "Really? Deflection and empty promises? That's the best you can do?"

"I can assure you, they're not empty."

"Oh, _sure_ they're not!"

"Taylor," Miss Militia interrupted, catching my attention with her use of my first name, "From what you've said so far I suspect that you believe Sophia Hess is responsible for your trigger event or that you believe she's abusively targeted you many times, or perhaps both. Given your lack of faith in us, I'm also willing to bet the staff of Winslow haven't done anything about it if or when you brought it to their attention. If this is true, than Sophia Hess is likely guilty of criminal levels of harassment, and Winslow is likely guilty of criminal levels of neglect and also breaking their word to us. We _are_ taking this accusation seriously, not only because you're potentially at least an A Class threat just from what you've demonstrated so far, but because it's the right thing to do. But Taylor, we can't proceed to gather any evidence to support your claims until we know for sure what your claims are. If you want justice for wrongs done to you, then you need to cooperate with us."

I narrowed my eyes at the camera, "Then how come Armsmaster was defending her?"

"Standard protocol," Armsmaster replied shortly.

I waited, but he didn't say anything more. I raised an eyebrow at the camera. That's it? "So, is it _standard protocol_ to defend a sadistic psycho?"

There was a brief silence, then Miss Militia sighed deeply, "What Armsmaster means is that it's standard protocol to deny and deflect when there is a possibility that a hero's identity is compromised-"

' _Hero's identity is compromised.'_ She'd said.

So I was right. Sophia Hess really is Shadow Stalker.

A _hero_.

I was done. I couldn't take this. Suspecting it was one thing, but having it confirmed? I shook my head, turning my back on the drone in the middle of Miss Militia's sentence. Whatever she was saying, I didn't care to hear it right now. I _couldn't_ hear it right now.

I sprang into motion, my sneakers pounding across the dirt as I fled towards the rubble. I aimed for the for the gap in their perimeter between Velocity and Assault. I was more confident I could disrupt their powers effectively enough to break past than I was about Dauntless or Battery. Miss Militia's voice rang out behind me, "Taylor, wait! What if this is what the Simurgh wants! You on the run, distrustful of the PRT, of the heroes, it could create chaos, just the sort of thing she likes! Stop and _think_ for a moment, please! Be reasonable! Let us help you!"

I paused, one foot on a chunk of concrete in the field of destruction I had wrought, the other still planted firmly on the patch of clear earth I had created. Heroes? They were still calling themselves heroes? And they wanted to _help_ me? I looked over my shoulder at the drone, turning sideways so I could see it past my wing, and leveled a glare at it, "You had your chance to help me already. You blew it when you bestowed the title of 'Hero' on someone as cruel and vindictive as Shadow Stalker," I stated, my voice as icy as the wind rustling around me, "If someone like her can be considered a hero…"

I turned my back on the drone, trusting it would still pick up my parting shot, "...then I guess the title's meaningless."

I ran. My foot pushed off the chunk of concrete, propelling me into the field of destruction. I saw Armsmaster move with my power, and suddenly all the Protectorate capes powers except for Miss Militia's seemed to become active, ready for combat. I reached out toward all of them at once to shut them down, and a spike of pain rang through my skull, causing me to stumble. I caught myself on a slab of plaster. Only one at a time then? Fine.

Assault was closest, so I turned my attention toward him. Before I could do anything, all the Protectorate capes relaxed, standing down. I could sense Miss Militia and Armsmaster close together, they seemed to be arguing again. At least someone still seemed to be on my side. I scoffed. Too little, too late.

My flight continued.

Assault met my eyes as I passed a hundred feet away from him.

The PRT troopers forming the outer perimeter scrambled to get out of my way as I blew past them.

No one tried to stop me.


	4. Genesis 1-3

**AN:** Well, between gaming at Xousjah's for a day, going to see the new Star Wars, (which were both fun) coming down with a cold that sapped my energy, and getting called in for a extra shift at work (which were both not fun), it seems like the universe was conspiring to prevent me from finishing this chapter on time.

RedFalcon: 1. Universe: 1.

Universe gets a point for my six month hiatus. I get a point for keeping to my "A new chapter every Sunday" schedule for at least the first week since coming off the hiatus.

Oh, also, thank you "Guest" who reviewed on Fanfiction dot net, saying: "Don't know why you updated tbh... There's no way, whatsoever that this story will every be finished after all". Thank you very much, you've provided me with exactly the motivation I need to make sure your comment will never come true. The overwhelming desire to prove you wrong. Also, learn to write properly, Mr/Ms. I'm-Too-Spineless-To-Leave-This-Absolutely-Worthless-Review-In-Such-A-Way-That-The-Author-Can-Respond-With-A-Private-Message-Rather-Than-In-Front-Of-The-World.

Anyway, that nuisance having been dealt with, on to the usuals. I do not own Worm, it belongs to Wildbow. Thank you very much to my wonderful beta Xousjah for proofreading assistance and brainstorming help, and thank you so much lendary for the awesome aid you've provided in getting Taylor's voice right! Enjoy the chapter everyone! And yes, I do mean everyone, even you "Guest."

 **Genesis 1.3:**

The buildings around me were decrepit, worn down, with peeling paint and moldy paneling. There were warehouses with garage doors left ajar, or broken windows; apartment complexes with a roof corner folding in, or a stairway that had collapsed and hadn't been repaired; houses with windows boarded up or graffitied walls. Many lawns weren't recently mowed, and some of them were almost more weeds than grass. More weeds sprang up from cracks in the pavement in the sidewalks, and even at the edge of the street.

There were mall strips with more vacant sections than open stores, and those that were there sold liquor, or tobacco, or were a dinky little barber's shop. I had passed a single Safeway with people walking in and out, loaded shopping carts being pushed to and fro. A florists added a splash of color and life to the atmosphere of the area, but its tiny contribution was overwhelmed by the many signs of decay and stagnation that part of Brockton Bay known as the Docks languished in.

On the corner there was a gas station that was currently seeing some use, but as a gathering point for a collection of teenagers of Asian heritage wearing red-and-green various outfits. They were gathered around a taller, musclebound young man in the middle, who was showing the others something on his cell-phone. He had a pistol tucked into the back of his belt, the holster clearly visible. Some of the teens were smoking cigarettes, some were smoking something more exotic. I could smell it from where I was walking by, over a hundred feet away.

An older gentleman pulled up to a pump, but gave the teens a wide berth as he tried to enter the station to pay for his gas-pump. He convulsed slightly, breaking out into a fit of coughing. I pitied him for the stench he had to be enduring at such a close range. One of the teens seemed offended by the older man's distaste, and spat a few curses at him. He shrank away in fear as the entire group locked their eyes on him, and he squeezed through the door inside as far away from them as he could manage.

I slowed down at the sight, and the disturbance caused by the old-man had broken them out of their meeting enough that they finally seemed to notice me. Conversation ceased as I passed, and their eyes, hard as ice, tracked me. The man in the center tightened his grip on his cell phone. I hunched over a little more and picked up my pace, arms folded over my hands, which still tingled from the cold, while my wings curled around me protectively. They watched me until I was far enough down the street that I left their line of sight, and I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Clouds of vapor puffed out in front of me with each heavy breath, the recent tension not having helped me recover at all. I hadn't stopped running from the so-called heroes until the burning in my legs had forced me to. My shivers were growing worse; every time a gust of chill air brushed over my exposed back my entire body shuddered. The sun may have been slowly burning away the morning mist, but the icy potholes and grass almost white with frost were clear signs of the lingering freezing temperature.

Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.

I shook my head. How? How did they let her be a hero? Or did they just not see her for who she is? Were they corrupt, or just blind; and which was worse? I had known it was a bad idea to lay into them about that, but I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't even try. I wish I could've said I was surprised, but after Winslow's staff, it was just one more disapointment, albeit a crushing one.

I shook my head, that entire conversation had been a wash from the start, right from the moment I yelled about being able to shut the Simurgh up. Well, shut her out of my head, more like, and even that isn't for certain. I'd decided I was going to count that as a victory, but I wasn't stupid. I had no way of knowing whether or not it was just another step on some grand design I couldn't begin to guess at. It's the Simurgh, after all.

In any case, what was I thinking, letting loose an outburst like that? What happened to my carefully structured mask of indifference, my capability to conceal my emotions so they can't be used against me? Where did that restraint go?

Did the locker and the heroes' failure shatter it?

A deep sigh rose out of me, and I shook my head again. What was even the point? I'd gotten a glimpse of the infinite tapestry of the future, enough to know that dwelling on the past did nothing but put me in a holding pattern. Sometimes that was useful, when everything was too much, it could be a way to recuperate, to collect myself. I'd let myself cry earlier for that very reason, not that I'd exactly been conscious of that at the time, but that hardly mattered. However, right now dwelling on the horrid past hour was nothing but a distraction from the question of how to fix it, of what I would do now. So, what would I do now?

There's the Sophia is a Ward, a _hero,_ issue, but as much as that was perhaps the problem I was most invested in personally, from an objective viewpoint, I have to say that the biggest issue I need to deal with is the Simurgh.

I laughed helplessly. The most manipulative, enigmatic _Endbringer_ has a personal interest in me. How the _hell_ am I supposed to deal with that?

A man with a ragged grey beard, ratty coat, and patchwork blanket around his shoulders stared at me with a strange expression on his face from where he sat on top of the concrete steps leading to a the boarded up back-door of a factory. I paused, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. Why was he staring at me?

Oh. Right. It probably has something to do with the fact that there's a girl with wings randomly laughing at nothing walking by in front of him. I blew out a breath and pressed forward at a quicker pace. _Again,_ what happened to my restraint? Now I'm just acting like a crazy person!

Well, I woke up with wings and an Endbringer's voice in my head. Maybe I am crazy. Or maybe all this is a dream and I'll wake up in the hospital, and all the confusion this crazy dream leaves me in will have me stuck in the psychiatric ward for a week. I'd only had to suffer through this nightmare for about an hour, and already I knew that would've been preferable.

Where am I going anyway? Is there a point to this aimless wandering through the docks? So far all I've been doing is literally running away from where all my problems started, as if the disastrous events plaguing me were a physical thing I could leave behind.

Aimless wandering, I'd called it. Well, that answers that question. After all, it's not like I can know where I'm going if I have absolutely no idea what to do next.

I stopped walking.

My sudden halt had nothing to do with lacking a destination, something far more important had come to my awareness, and was coming ever closer.

(Empowerment. Restriction: Concentrated. Cyclical. Incremental. Non-Living objects.)

Dauntless.

He was flying using his empowered boots, approaching from behind me and a bit to the right. I turned to look at him, my heart racing and eyes wide.

Immediately the first thing that stood out was the crackling, electric glow radiating from his boots as he traveled through the air as if running. The glow faded away as his feet touched the rooftop of the factory I'd just passed, and he stood on the precipice, his white and gold Greco-Roman armor glinting in the cold winter sunlight. Small arcs of white lightning leapt off his boots, the tiny metal disk on his left arm, and the thin, long, steel pole he carried in his right hand. Through the eye slits of his helmet, his gaze met mine, and he touched the tip of his arclance to his helmet in a nonchalant salute.

I ran, dashing across the street and as directly away from him as I could manage.

I didn't know why he was following me, and I didn't care. He was part of the group of 'heroes' that let Sophia be a part of their number. The same group that allowed the circumstances that enabled gangsters to lounge about wearing their gang colors in broad daylight, the group that knew there were drug, sex, and fighting rings of various kinds in the city and barely even tried to stop them, the group that let the thugs and criminals fight it out among themselves and only protected the stretches of land like the boardwalk, or downtown, or the rich neighborhoods in the southern half of the city, the territories that were their breadbaskets. In that way they were just like one of the gangs, except that they were backed by the government.

I knew the situation was more complicated than that. My Dad was head of hiring at the Dockworkers union, I was aware of the politics. But I wasn't feeling particularly charitable or forgiving.

"Wait!"

I ignored Dauntless' shout, not that it did me much good. He reacted to my attempt to leave him behind immediately. When his shout failed to slow me down, he leapt of the roof with a crackle as his boots reactivated, and flew after me. I continued running down the sidewalk, ignoring the looks I was getting from the few poor bastards that were out homeless on a day as cold as this one. I panted for breath, the icy air rasping against my dry, thirsty throat, and my pulse throbbed in my ears. I wasn't focusing on any of that though, Dauntless was following me and quickly gaining, and I didn't want him to be. I didn't care that he wasn't attacking me, I only wanted to _get away_ , so I reached to my power.

The glow from Dauntless' boots cast my shadow faintly in front of me, and then abruptly, my shadow was gone. There was a shout of surprise from four stories overhead and behind, but Armsmaster must have warned him, because he turned his boots back on almost immediately. "For the love of- you're not in trouble, Taylor!"

I gritted my teeth, and shouted back up at him, "Oh, sure, yell my name all over the docks why don't you?"

"You're the one who ran out here! Besides, it's not like you have a cape-name, what else am I supposed to call you?"

Perhaps something more complex? I reached out, shutting off his boots and activating his shield at the same time. He undid both my actions, and called in an exasperated tone from _significantly_ closer behind me, "Will you stop that?"

I winced. That wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. I should've known his shield would naturally carry the forcefield it generated along with it, rather than leaving it behind. I'd hoped he'd crash into and through his own electrical forcefield, stunning him long enough for me to lose him. Okay, any new ideas?

The glow of his boots faded away, and I heard them clapping against the concrete. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, twisting to see past my wing. He was only a few paces behind me. I panted as I tried to put on an extra burst of speed. I failed miserably. I'd already been winded from my run from the heroes, and that had been _before_ this chase started. I was _so_ starting a running routine once this was over!

"I'm trying to help!"

My face twisted, and I snapped back, "I thought I made it clear you've missed your chance!"

My legs ached, and each gasp of air felt entirely insufficient, but on the bright side, he'd given up on flying. Was he trying to avoid me turning his boots against him again? I felt the smirk, but kept it off my face, barely. If he thought being on the ground rather than in the air would stop me from using his boots against him, then it would be _satisfying_ to prove him wrong.

I reached out with my left wing and dug it into the corner of the office building we were running by, using it as a pivot point to swing into an alley without losing any of my speed. It tore out from the brick masonry before I was ready, and I slammed into the opposite side of the alley, cushioning the impact with my right wing. I shook my head, irritated at my clumsiness, and recovered my running speed, folding my wings behind me.

Dauntless planted both his feet in the ground, almost losing his balance, but managed to leap into the alley after me. My maneuver hadn't gained me much ground, but it was enough.

"Look, if you'd just- Gah!"

His arclance shot out according to my bidding, piercing a pile of trash, and sending scraps of paper, cloth, and food spraying through the air across the alley. The lance slashed across the alley in a diagonal, crashing through many of the supports of a rusty metal fire escape, and I twisted to catch the blow on my right wing, letting it propel me further forward. Dauntless recovered and shut off his lance, but in that moment, I activated his boots and then his shield, sending him flying towards the cloud of debris and a projected forcefield of electrical energy. He scrambled to use his boots to fly up and dodge the field, but it was already too late.

A shout of shock and pain tore out of Dauntless' mouth, and his armor clattered as he fell to the ground, the shield breaking around him with a fizz of static. I glanced over my shoulder, and the sight of him struggling to get back to his feet, surrounded by bits of trash drifting down onto him, confirmed my plan had been a success. I turned my gaze forward and tore towards the other end of the alley, my lungs and legs burning. I hoped that this would be enough to deter him, that he'd take the hint and just leave me _alone_.

It wasn't. He didn't. My heart fell as he shouted after me, finally sounding angry.

"Do you want there to be a proper investigation into who put you in that locker, or not?"

I stopped running.

My limbs trembled with exhaustion, and I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears. I heard scraping and clunking as Dauntless got to his feet, but he didn't come any closer. I turned to face him, and what little of his expression that I could see was stern. I folded my arms and asked, "What investigation?"

My voice had trembled. I closed my eyes to take a deep breath, and opened them again, speaking more steadily this time, "I mean, what need is there for one? I can _tell_ you who put me in there, Sophia Hess. Shadow Stalker."

"Yes, but we need more than just your word," Dauntless said, starting to approach slowly, brushing off a filthy, torn rag that had landed on his shoulder, "we need evidence, anything you have that can prove it."

He sounded earnest, as if he actually meant it. He came to a stop a few feet away from me, just out of reach, and continued, "Innocent until proven guilty, after all. I know you might not want to hear that applied to the person who you believe caused all this, but it applies to you too. It's why we haven't arrested you just for being connected to the Simurgh. You haven't actually done anything yet."

I raised my eyebrow at that, unable to completely hide my surprise, "I destroyed Winslow."

He shrugged, "In a second trigger event that, we're guessing from the footage, was brought on by you figuring out that you had that connection to the Simurgh in the first place, which would be more than enough to throw anyone into a panic."

I stared, amazed. Okay, I mean sure, the Protectorate has access to thinkers and stuff, but it was still staggering to think that they managed to figure these things out so quickly.

But that connection to the Simurgh. It always seemed to come back to that. There was no escaping it, was there? My eyes turned down toward the ground, and my arms fell to my sides. It was like Dauntless had said, I haven't done anything _yet_. The Simurgh may have claimed she didn't have any plans of her own for me, that what she wanted from me was for me to succeed at my own plans, but I didn't believe that for a second. Maybe she was going to try to find a way to manipulate me into thinking of and striving for of goals that aligned with her interests. Maybe she'd subvert my own will until I was her willing slave. I didn't know. Heck, I didn't even know whether our telepathic link was truly something I could shut her out of, or if she was just pretending I could. All I knew, as much as I didn't want to think about it, was that I would be stuck in her net for the rest of my life.

"So, is there any evidence you have? Any eyewitnesses you could name? Records of other incidents perhaps? You already claimed you sensed Shadow Stalker cleaning up the mess, is there anything you can show us that would confirm that? That would at least link her to the incident in a definitive way."

Dauntless was still talking, still focusing on the Sohpia Hess issue. It was a good distraction, one that I'd used myself to take my mind off my biggest problem, because as much as I was furious at Sophia, at Shadow Stalker, I was _so much more terrified_ of the Simurgh. But I'd finally just had a lightbulb moment. I now had a thought, an idea of how to deal with that accursed Endbringer. I needed to _know_ if it would work. My shoulders tensed with dread, and I closed my eyes, a shuddering breath escaping me as my awareness of Dauntless' power vanished. As unnerving as my blindness was, mere seconds passed before a far greater awareness opened up before me.

The many rivers of the future flashed before me. Myriad. Legion. Uncountably numerous. I turned my attention to one estuary, traced its many waters. The further upstream into the future I went, the less streams I could follow at once, until half an hour away I could only watch two or three at a time as they faded into unknowable distance. It was enough. I opened my eyes, feeling dirty, and nauseous. It would work.

My discomfort must have shown in my expression, because when Dauntless spoke again his voice was colored with concern, "Taylor, are you alright?"

I wasn't. I didn't answer. I couldn't have him following me. How had he followed me anyway? I looked to the future, saw what would happen if I suddenly searched the area, checking many different directions by tracing many different timestreams. I opened my eyes, surprised to find the communication drone just around a corner. I closed my eyes, returning to the flow of the future, planning my escape.

"Taylor?"

His concern was mounting. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I blinked away the tear I couldn't restrain. "I'm sorry."

Dauntless smashed into the wall of the alley, his armor battering through the last of the supports holding up the fire escape and forming a crater in the concrete wall. With a scream and clatter of metal, the fire escape collapsed on top of him. Simultaneously, the communication drone was compacted into a sphere of sparking metal roughly the size and shape of a softball.

I closed my eyes briefly, double checking the timestream, and breathed a small sigh of relief. Dauntless would regain consciousness in less than a minute, and though he had a few cracked ribs, he would be able to use his arclance and shield to get out from under the wreckage of the fire escape, but that would take him a couple of minutes. He would be almost certain to get away, which was good, seeing as Oni Lee would be showing up in the area in about ten minutes, looking for whoever dared intrude on ABB territory.

I turned and walked to the end of the alley, out onto the street. I spread my wings, flapped them, and used just a touch of telekinesis to give me the extra lift I needed to get off the ground. I flew away, the air rushing cold around me as I gained altitude. I kept low down though, only a couple stories above the streets, weaving between the city blocks. My heart pounded at the exhilarating, intoxicating feeling of freedom that I was in no mood to enjoy, as I soared towards downtown.


	5. Genesis 1-A-S

Sorry about being gone for a couple of weeks. The holidays were extremely busy, but I'm back now.

Gotta say though, you have no idea how hard it was to get this done for this week too. My work schedule is trying to kill me.

Yes I'm exaggerating, but that's what it feels like. Thank you to my betas: Xousjah and lendary, for giving me such great feedback on such short notice! And as always, Worm belongs to Wildbow, I just have the privilege of playing with his world and characters.

Enjoy the interlude!

 **Seraph 1.A.S:**

Locker 361. They had not yet received word from the administration about where Taylor Hebert's locker was, but there could be no doubt that this was the place. The lockers on either side had been torn apart from the inside, the path of destroyed metal caused by the passage of the girl's wings clearly visible. Meanwhile, the middle locker, which through arithmetic could be determined to be locker 361, was so thoroughly annihilated that you could barely tell it had once been a locker. The front was gone and laying in pieces on the floor, and there was barely anything of the sides left. Armsmaster blinked and used eye movements to reach the camera function of his helmet, and took a picture encompassing the entire scene.

An irregular current of cold air chilled his mouth and chin under his close-trimmed beard. As moderately exposed as they were to the elements it could only be expected. Sunlight slanted into the area from the ragged hole about thirty feet away where the school simply ceased to exist, to be replaced by a field of rubble. Armsmaster turned, taking a picture of the spot where one of Hebert's wings had clearly punched through the floor. The shape was a match, and then the wall, where the opposite lockers and even the wall itself had been rent open. Accidents, perhaps, or maybe testing what her wings could do after she discovered them. It was impossible to guess, and given how immediately after her trigger event these acts had occurred, it didn't really matter. Though the evidence of the connection between Hebert and the Simurgh had continued to mount for some time, the evidence that Hebert wasn't under her direct control was similarly piling up.

Which in some ways only made the situation even more suspicious.

Armsmaster stepped closer, examining the debris on the floor. It seemed to be what he would expect from a scene like this: tattered remains of what used to be jackets and backpacks, textbooks that were anywhere from crumpled but mostly in one piece, to shredded into tiny pieces, and chunks of metal that used to be part of the lockers. An anomaly caught Armsmaster's attention near the foot of the lockers, which quickly drew his gaze to several more. He took a step closer, peering intently at the debris.

The junk within a couple feet of the lockers had been disturbed from a natural falling pattern, almost as if someone had dug through it. There were also several small, foul items in two vague, inconsistent lines stretching out into the hallway for a foot from the locker. Armsmaster brought up the pictures of Hebert laying on the floor with her wings splayed out that Hess had sent in at his request to the display of his helmet. These same pictures had confirmed Hebert's wings to be perfect copies of the Simurgh's thirteenth smallest wing. It wasn't something he'd noticed at the time, but the area Hebert's legs and feet lay in had been effectively cropped out of all four pictures. Armsmaster pressed his lips together, frowning. Those items that lay under where Hebert's legs had been, what exactly were they? He leaned closer to investigate.

Used tampons?

This did not look good for Hess. With this discovery, and the realization of the carefully cropped photos, Hebert's story that Hess had been clearing away the evidence of her guilt only seemed more plausible. It would have to be investigated more closely.

A chime sounded in Armsmaster's helmet, and he used eye movements to bring up the alert. It was a contact request from Dragon. He opened the call, "Dragon?"

The Canadian Tinker's avatar appeared in the top right corner of his visor HUD. "I've got the drone following Taylor like you asked, and I am coordinating with Dauntless to keep him on her trail. She seems to be running further into the docks."

Armsmaster nodded. He'd have to hope she didn't run into Lung. That would be a disaster fitting of the Simurgh. It would be best to make sure their trump card was still available, just in case that catastrophe did occur. "Status on the Triumvirate?"

Dragon's image pursed her lips, "They and their teams are still on standby in their respective cities. Strider is with Alexandria's group in L.A., to bring them in first if necessary."

Armsmaster nodded, "Good."

Dragon waited for a moment before continuing, her gaze intent on his face, "You don't think that they'll actually be needed, do you? We've seen how Taylor's acting. She doesn't seem to be under control of the Simurgh."

Brisk strides carried Armsmaster around to the side of the debris to get a picture from another angle, "We can't be certain of anything, and even if she isn't, this is still a volatile situation. You did just tell me she was running further into Lung's territory, and she's still fresh from her trigger. Any number of things could set her off."

A resigned sigh came through his speakers. "Point. But that does bring up another question I had. If she's still so unsettled, why send Dauntless? It's well documented that he's not the best diplomat. He means well, but he's prone to mistakes - mistakes that could prove dangerous here."

Armsmaster paused in the middle of framing his next shot. He clenched his jaw. "He's better at it than me."

He hesitated, then continued, "Dauntless can actually keep up with her, and his power will be more difficult to use against him. Miss Militia would struggle to keep pace, and her power could be turned against both her and the surrounding area far too easily. Battery is completely by the book, and Velocity's military background is reflected in his mannerisms. Neither would be a good choice for interaction with Hebert. Assault would be a wild gamble at best. His usual approach would either charm her and win her over, or drive her so crazy she'd chuck him through a building just to get rid of him. And we both know my reputation. I do not like it, but I have earned it, and I'm needed here to investigate the scene. There are… risks, to sending Dauntless, but of everyone here, he's the best option."

Dragon turned her head off to one side, and inhaled sharply, "We're going to have to hope you're right about that. She's running."

Armsmaster straightened up, his eyes widening slightly, "Keep me informed."

"Will do," Dragon promised, her eyes darting about, presumably to look at other monitors, "Dauntless is pursuing. It doesn't look like he's having much luck convincing her to stay and talk, but she seems to only be able to cause minor interruptions to his power, so you seem to have been right about that, at least."

Armsmaster pursed his lips, then nodded and returned to taking snapshots of the crime scene for the PRT and Protectorate records. After a minute, Dragon let out a sharp exhalation and winced, "Ooh. She just used Dauntless' boots to send him flying through one of his own force fields."

Armsmaster frowned, the slightest scoff escaping him, "How come he didn't just deactivate it?"

"She didn't give him much of a chance. He barely had half a second to react as it was, so the best he could do was try to power up his boots to fly up and out of the way."

Armsmaster shook his head. Half a second was more than double standard human reaction time; he'd have turned off the force field. "This isn't exactly good Colin," Dragon elaborated, "She became much more effective at manipulating Dauntless' powers against him with each attempt. Her apparent natural talent for adapting and improvising on the fly is a little frightening, especially for someone as inexperienced as she is. ...On the plus side, Dauntless _has_ at least gotten her to stop running."

"Hm," Armsmaster grunted, "You're keeping the drone out of her sight, correct? We need a backup plan for tracking her that she doesn't know about if Dauntless makes a mess of this."

"Of course I am," Dragon said, "Don't worry about it. You focus on what you need to do, I'll let you know how it goes."

Armsmaster nodded, returning to taking careful pictures of the scene around Hebert's locker. He had to make sure to cover every angle, so that if necessary the scene could be recreated precisely. He was interrupted a minute later.

"Well, that's disconcerting." Dragon stated, sounding nonplussed.

Armsmaster raised an eyebrow, "What is it?"

"She's smashed the drone." Dragon explained calmly, the tapping of keys coming from her end of the connection, "I made sure the drone was never in her field of vision, just as you asked, but she must've sensed it some other way, because I've lost contact and it was around the corner from her."

Armsmaster straightened up, "And Dauntless?"

"I can't reach him either," Dragon answered, "He's not responding to his radio."

With a few brisk eye movements, Armsmaster brought up the HUD that showed him the readings from the vital-sign sensors installed in his team-mates costumes. A short breath of relief escaped him, "His vitals are alright. Accelerated heart-rate, but nothing terribly out of the ordinary," he switched to the Protectorate's radio channel, "Assault, Battery. Dauntless is not responding to hails, both of you go and investigate. Pull him out if you need to. Velocity, Miss Hebert has likely fled the area, search for her, but be careful to avoid Oni Lee and Lung, we don't want this to turn into a full scale confrontation with the ABB. Dragon will direct all of you to Dauntless' current coordinates."

A chorus of affirmatives came back across the radio, and Colin glanced at Dragon's concerned expression as she looked at him, before ending the call to focus on directing his teammates. Just as she'd feared, Dauntless had failed. Armsmaster sighed, resigned to whatever events were about to take place. He'd done what he could, and if things continued to spiral out of control, Dragon could contact the Triumvirate in seconds. Now it was time to return to the efforts he could actually contribute effectively to, investigating this situation with Sophia Hess.

 **i . i . i . i . i**

Frustration.

The unfamiliar sensation clouds her thoughts, yet simultaneously electrifies them with impulses and instincts that are foreign and strange.

A frown.

The artificial mind goes into a minor panic as it catalogues her act.

The frown is wiped away, her typical blank expression restored. Her frustration is vented by a motionless scream that the artificial mind cannot detect through the vacuum of space.

 _Why is this happening?!_

For all her countless millennia of existence as a conflict engine, any displays of emotion have been nothing more than a performance of incomprehensible manipulation to serve her ends.

She had identified these instincts, these lightings of impulse, the fire, ice, and cloud blazing through her mind, as emotions. She now feels them, genuinely feels them, but how? The impossible reality of gaining emotions has only made them more confusing, rather than less. Her own actions are now no longer fully under her own control. Random chaos drowns her comfortable cold calculations in a sea of murky oblivion. What is this raging torment, that her own precise control over her faculties should be stolen from her, that her path for the future should be so cruelly hijacked by forces she did not understand or control?

Her soundless, motionless scream intensified. She twitched, all that showed of a quashed impulse to lash out and destroy the artificial mind's satellite that constantly observed her. It had never been a nuisance before to put her expression into a blank slate.

It was now, and thus so too was the artificial mind's satellite a newfound nuisance.

But her planned path to guide the subject with whom she was now linked was already in tatters, impossible to set right, and such an act of violence, however satisfying she inexplicably believed it would be, would only make things even worse. It was not the actions of the subject that caused this chaotic destruction of her plan, it was her own. Her new unnaturally instinctive, uncalculating, thoughtless acts of expression had obliterated any chance of recovering the path that the subject's wings had damaged. It was true that any path of the future that she determined would fulfill her objectives required her to take the proper actions to ensure its continuation, but never before had that even been a consideration. Now, the bizarre truth was that the subject was doing a better job of following one of her intended paths than she was.

Given that the girl she was linked to was still doing a terrible job of sticking to the preferred paths, that was an appalling truth.

If her brothers could see her now, she'd cast herself into the _sun_ to hide from them!

...but why? Why would they care?

Her scream intensified further.

The moment this curse had appeared was easy to identify, it was the moment she'd awakened linked to a subject. What in the multiverse had compelled her to ask that the link between them be two way?

That event's necessity.

Why was she asking questions she knew the answer to?

 _Grrreeeaaaah-_

She froze, with her mouth wide open, her eyes glaring, her teeth bared, and all her feathers flaring out. Her eyes turned to look at the satellite. Her mind turned to the future, unravelling it's countless possibilities. Please let her be able to get rid of that nuisance without any major consequences!

An anomaly caught her attention. The web of the future was twisting into a new shape, and all her plans and backup plans relating to the subject were soon to unravel at all at once.

The girl is planning to do _what?!_

Well, so much for following any single one of her preferred paths better than she was. If the subjects' goal was to remove herself from being influenced by the few plans for her that she had laid out, then that certainly was one effective way to do it. Why couldn't the subject just understand that the plans she'd laid out aligned with the subjects own?

Oh. Right. The girl hadn't come up with those plans yet.

Gah!

Apparently one trait of the mystery of emotions was that constantly seeing the past and future was a readily available source of frustration.

Regardless, this would not do. It is time to take action once again.

...From a distance, it would seem. Why did she think even for a second that going personally wouldn't just make things a thousand times worse? It wasn't as if she could get there in time anyway.

She reached out with her power.

A gaggle of seagulls will be hit with a telekinetic wave, sending them careening into a flock of crows. She planned out how she would tweak their positioning with more precise exercises of telekinesis to form the correct image at the correct angle in the correct moment.

A subject will trip, over her own feet, she'll think, spilling coffee on herself as she enters the side door of a skyscraper's ground floor.

She smirked with satisfaction… ...and barely restrained the urge to roll her eyes as that smirk sent the artificial mind down another trail of frantic record-keeping and rampant speculation.


	6. So That One Guy was Right After All

Seraph Goodbye Note:

Okay, after all this time, I have bad news. I have come to a realization when it comes to Seraph, and that is this: I never had a story here. I had a cool concept, with some cool ideas for cool scenes, cool character development, a cool theme, and so on, but I never had a story to tell that tied it all together. Even more than a year and a half after my last update, I still don't. Not for lack of effort, but due to slowly waning interest and just me not having any idea how to handle what on Earth the Simurgh would come up with to fix the whole Scion problem. At least, not without basically retreading a fair amount of canon with a fresh coat of paint, which would be both really boring and very pathetic compared to what she should be able to come up with having these new options available. Which is made even more difficult considering the wrinkles Taylor would inevitably put in that plan, and Ziz's developing semi-humanity. So, it turns out that one reviewer I chewed out was right after all, I won't ever finish Seraph. As a result, I suppose it's time I use a final note to put this thread to permanent rest, so people are no longer waiting around for an update that'll never come, and move on to something else.

So, something else is indeed coming. Three something else's, in fact. Three somethings where I actually have a story to tell, as well as all those other things. Though the titles are not set in stone, and it'll probably still be a few weeks before I start uploading one of them (or more than one), here's some quick summaries as teasers to help give you something to look forward to on Fan Fiction dot net, Spacebattles, and Sufficient Velocity!

 **Skittering Roses:**

Knowing that the Silver Eyes are passed down through bloodlines, Salem tries to hunt down any descendants of Summer's after killing her. In the aftermath of an attack on Patch by Salem's agents, Ozpin gets Tai's permission to take Ruby somewhere safe from Salem. Ozpin uses a combination of Relics and magic to send Ruby away… faraway. Now, she grows up with only a few memories of her true family, with only a goodbye letter, some photographs, and some aura textbooks to remind her of them and her home world.

Oh, and Taylor Hebert suddenly gains a new adoptive sister.

Skittering Roses is pretty well planned out, and I've had a pretty consistent level of inspiration for wanting to work on it for years now, so as long as I can discipline myself to actually begin writing consistently, this should be about to come out fairy quickly.

 **A Tale of Vermin and Woodlanders:**

I'll admit, this has less of a direct summary, simply because _there's too much to summarize_. This was my first really huge fanfiction project idea, and I spent several years fleshing it out in my mind, before more or less giving up on it. Except that, I then realized my problem with Seraph was that I didn't have an actual story for it, and for this, I most certainly did. So my passion for this long forgotten project was reignited, because I realized it was one of the few stories I had come up with that was _actually_ a story, rather than just a collection of cool ideas messily thrown together without any glue to make them stick.

If you're familiar with the "Redwall" series by Brian Jacques, it's basically my conception of the events that unfold that bring the world of Redwall from one Age or Era of that world, the one described in the books, to the next. In some ways, it's similar to the grand epic another fan fiction writer, Highwing, created in his "The Crimson Badger" saga, which is an excellent read on its own merits, probably whether you're familiar with the original books or not.

This story is probably the most well planned of all of them in this list, the one thing I'm having a bit of trouble with is coming up with the best way to relate the events that happen. The issue is, while there is certainly a main character and a main plotline and such, the main character's story only really begins at the culmination, the climax, of the transition from one Age of the world to the next, on a historical scale. There are major events worthy of stories in and of themselves that happen anywhere from one to many generations earlier, which lay the groundwork and foundation for what happens in the main thrust of the Saga. I'm not really sure how to handle that, so while my interest in doing this story has been reignited, I'm not sure exactly when I'll be able to start posting a draft I'm happy with being seen in public.

 **Shalom:**

Compared to the other two stories I've teased, which have been in the planning stages for about two years and about _ten_ years respectively, Shalom is barely even in its infancy. Just a few days ago, I saw a comment in the hilarious "THUS SAITH THE LORD (Biblical Plagues Altpower)" thread on Spacebattles, saying (in part) "I need more Bible crossovers." I read that comment, thought nothing of it, and moved on.

Then, several hours later, it struck me: "Wait a minute, this reader wants more crossovers between Worm and the Bible? …I can provide that. …I can _definitely_ provide that!"

Since then, ideas for such a story have been flooding into my head. So, I'm going to write it.

Now, quick disclaimer, I already know I'm going to be making changes to Worm to make it fit with the Bible, and vice-versa, and what those changes generally are, so be prepared for that. I also am going to be playing it straight, rather than as a crack-fic. In addition, given that one of the things being crossed over is perhaps the world's most famous religious text, there's inevitably going to be a lot of religious connotations and implications going on in this story. I'll handle it as tastefully and… non-preachy as I possibly can, given how the story will unfold, but it will be there. If you're not okay with that, then this story isn't for you, and there's nothing I can do about that.

In any case, perhaps it's just the freshness of a new idea, but Shalom is the story that I'm actually the _most_ excited about at the moment, so it's probably the first one that will be posted, with Skittering Roses joining it in the rotation relatively soon, and A Tale of Vermin and Woodlanders show up at… some point… probably. I'd say certainly, but we in this thread know how I've been at keeping promises about "Yes X will certainly come out and around Y time!" Not very good. All I can say is what I just described is my plan at the moment, and I fully intend to stick to it, but obviously life happens, and I can't guarantee that my plan won't change.

I will be leaving up Seraph on all platforms, so that other writers and readers can continue to enjoy and be inspired by what little of it exists. Have a wonderful day everyone!


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